


The Surprising Consequences of Hunter’s Desire for Pizza (Despite the title most definitely a Fitzsimmons fic)

by stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Because mainly it's really just fluff, Did I Mention Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Just a hint of swearing, Mention of Tony Stark - Freeform, New Year's Eve fluff, Pizza, Some bus kids, Strangers to Lovers, doctor who - Freeform, mention of Ian Quinn, non-canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9216257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Jemma Simmons is a successful biochemist working for Quinn Worldwide. But she has been anything but happy lately, especially when her boss forces her to cancel her trip back home to England for the holidays. When her friend Daisy invites her to her New Year's Eve party, she first doesn't think she can or wants to attend. But come 9:30 pm on New Year's Eve, when her work at the lab is finally done, she changes her mind and heads to her friend's place. And her decision might just change her life.





	1. New Year’s Eve 2016

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MashiarasDream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/gifts), [dilkirani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilkirani/gifts).



> For dilkirani who is the most amazing and fastest beta reader ever to roam this earth. I don't think I've gifted you anything yet, and you so deserve a gift for all those wonderful betas you've done for me! THANK YOU <3
> 
> And for MashiarasDream who let me pick her brain about Doctor Who for this. [And who's the reason I've started writing fanfic in the first place.]

Jemma slowly gets out of the cab. She holds on to the open door and looks up at the apartment building in front of her. Part of her wants to get back in the car. She’s not in the mood for this. People. Happy people. A party. Mingling. Her heart doesn’t want to be here. She sighs deeply.

“If you don’t close that door soon, I’m gonna start the meter again,” the grumpy cab driver interrupts her thoughts. “It’s New Year's Eve. There’s other people waiting for a ride, you know.”

Jemma squints, glaring at the cab driver, before angrily slamming the door shut. She barely manages to take a step back on the sidewalk before the yellow car speeds away.

“Happy New Year to you, too,” she yells sarcastically after the car. A sudden stiff wind blows down the street, forcing Jemma to pull her coat tighter. She turns around and takes another deep breath, before walking quickly towards the steps leading up to the building entrance. A young man approaches the stairs at the same time. He wears a brown leather bomber jacket and carries a large box of pizza.

“Are you delivering pizza for the party in 807?” Jemma asks him, and he stops in his tracks, looking at her in slight confusion. “Because I could pay you and take those from you,” Jemma adds. “Then you can save yourself a trip to the eighth floor in the slowest lift known to man.”

“Umm,” he mutters, alternating between staring at her and the box in his hands. “Ummm. No. I’m… I’m not delivering. I’m… my roommate… well… not  _ really _ roommate… just a friend whose sofa I’m crashing on until I find my own place because I just moved here from Scotland… well… he had the  _ brilliant _ idea of wanting to order pizza… on New Year’s Eve… but of course he didn’t want to wait three hours for it to be delivered and well, I hadn’t even started my beer yet, so it was up to me to pick it up, and usually I would protest, but the poor sod just had his heart broken and—” He stops, exhaling sharply. “I  _ could _ have just said I’m not delivering pizza, couldn’t I?”

Jemma chuckles briefly as he looks at her almost apologetically with his piercing blue eyes. “Well, it was far more informative this way,” she replies and he smiles shyly. “How about I at least open the door for you then?” she asks.

“Thanks,” the young man replies, and together they walk up to the entrance door.

Balancing his pizza box on one hand, he enters the code into the keypad to open the main door. Once it unlocks, Jemma pulls the door open and follows the man inside and to the elevator. Silently, they both stare as the numbers above the elevator ever-so-slowly count down.

“It  _ really _ is a ridiculously slow lift,” the young man remarks.

“Yes,” Jemma agrees. “If I weren’t wearing heels, I’d probably take the stairs.”

“Really? Didn’t you say you’re headed to the eighth floor?”

“I don’t mind the exercise,” Jemma replies, slightly more grumpily than she had wanted to.

He looks at her wide-eyed, and Jemma is about to apologize for her tone when a ding from the elevator draws their attention. The corners of his mouth quirk up into a shy smile, and he waits patiently until Jemma enters the elevator before stepping inside himself.

“Could you press seven for me?” he asks politely.

“Of course,” Jemma replies, avoiding his eyes.

The doors of the elevator close and barely noticeably the elevator car moves upward.

A strange tingle rises up Jemma’s spine caused by the uncomfortable silence in the small cabin.

“God, it’s so slow,” the man next to her mumbles, staring straight ahead.

The comment makes Jemma smile. Shyly she looks over at him, thankful that he’s trying to break the silence. “Well, at least it’s reliable,” she remarks. “I mean, it’s slow, but I’ve never seen it get—” A sudden jerk and loud creak of the elevator interrupts her. “Stuck,” she quietly finishes her sentence. Her eyes wander across the walls around her. She senses that they’ve stopped moving. Her heart begins to beat faster and she swallows hard.

“Oh bloody hell,” the stranger next to her exclaims. “You’ve  _ got _ to be kidding me!”

With one hand, he pulls out a cell phone from his back pocket and activates the screen. He sighs deeply and his gaze falls on her. “You got reception in here by any chance?”

Jemma opens her purse and retrieves her phone. The words  _ No Service _ stare back at her on the screen. Apologetically she shakes her head.

The stranger grimaces in frustration, then nods towards the small black flap below the panel of buttons. “What do you think our chances are of the emergency phone working?” he asks, squinting his eyes doubtfully.

Jemma takes a deep breath and opens the flap. Nothing but a small bundle of disconnected cables peek out. Her lips begin to twitch, and she quickly bites down on them, trying to keep her composure.

“Dammit,” the young man mutters. “If I had the right tools, I could  _ probably _ connect one of our mobiles and use it to call out.”

Confused, Jemma looks up. “The right tools?”

“I’m a mechanical engineer,” he explains.

“I can offer a hair pin,” Jemma remarks, shrugging her shoulders.

The left corner of his mouth quirks up, and sadly he replies, “I’m an engineer. Not MacGyver.”

Jemma exhales sharply. “Well, your friend,” she contemplates. “He’ll be waiting for his pizza. So if you don’t show up, he’ll know something is up and he’ll figure out that we’re stuck, right?”

His tongue nervously glides over his upper lip. “Hunter was already kinda shitfaced when I left,” he admits. “Chances are he’s asleep by now.”

“Hunter? Of course. Bobbi broke up with him again,” Jemma mumbles to herself before adding a sarcastic “Great!”

“What about you?” the stranger replies. “You were headed to a party? I mean, people are expecting you, right? Boyfriend, husband, girlfriend, wife,  _ someone _ , right?” He looks at her with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Jemma’s lips begin to tremble, and she turns away from him, blinking away tears. “My friends don’t know I’m coming,” she says in a shaky voice. “I wasn’t even supposed to be here,” she continues as sadness mixes with anger. “I was supposed to be home in England for Christmas and New Year’s.”

She exhales angrily as her voice gets steadier. “But  _ noooo _ !” she exclaims, furiously gesturing towards the door. “My boss decides last minute that my expertise is  _ desperately _ needed for this  _ urgent _ biochem project and I can’t  _ possibly _ go on vacation, lest I want to jeopardize my career. So, I’m stuck at the lab  _ every _ bloody day,  _ including _ Christmas and New Year’s, while he’s off to the Bahamas or God-knows-where. And then Daisy calls and invites me to her party, but I can’t  _ possibly _ go, because I have to finish this  _ ruddy _ experiment before the deadline and I don’t even  _ want _ to be around people because all I wanted was to go home because I haven’t seen my family in a  _ year _ and I  _ always _ spend Christmas and New Year’s with them. But then I’m standing in the lab and the data is finally complete and I look at myself in my  _ stupid _ pencil skirt and my high-heels. And I don’t even know why I’m wearing them because there’s nobody there,  _ no _ reason to follow their  _ stupid _ dress code. I could have gone to work in my pajamas or  _ nude _ and nobody would have noticed. And I look at myself and I say, ‘What are you doing here? The project is  _ done _ . You  _ met _ the deadline. Go to the party. Why would you want to spend New Year’s Eve alone when you’ve got friends who invited you?’ And I think, ‘Oh, I’ll just  _ surprise _ them, and show up there unannounced.’ So I take a taxi straight from work here and it’s ridiculously expensive and the driver is a grumpy old fart with  _ no _ manners whatsoever and I get here only to get stuck in the world’s slowest lift with a  _ complete _ stranger on New Year’s Eve when it’s not even two hours until midnight.”

Angrily she slams both hands against the panel of buttons repeatedly. “This is  _ not _ how tonight was supposed to be! This is not  _ where _ I was supposed to be! You bloody stupid piece of mechanical garbage!”

She walks backwards until her back hits the wall causing the elevator to briefly shake. Unable to keep herself up anymore, she slides down, pulling her knees closer and letting her tears run freely.

“Leopold Fitz.”

Surprised, Jemma looks in the direction of the voice. The stranger puts his pizza box on the floor and sits down next to her.

“What?” Jemma asks, confused.

A warm smile plays on his lips and he extends his hand towards her. “Leopold Fitz,” he repeats. “Your stuck-in-a-bloody-stupid-piece-of-mechanical-garbage-on-New-Year’s-Eve companion for the evening.”

Shyly, Jemma accepts his handshake.

“I don’t know if that makes it better,” he adds. “But now I’m not a complete stranger anymore. And I  _ completely _ understand that you’d like to be far  _ far _ away from me and from here and with your family. And this isn’t exactly how I imagined my New Year’s Eve either—although admittedly I also didn’t expect to be spending it with a drunk, heart-broken Brit. And, quite frankly, if I  _ have _ to face a potential New Year’s Eve kiss at midnight—not that I’m suggesting that we’ll have to kiss or that we’ll be stuck here that long—but  _ if _ I should have to face a New Year’s Eve kiss then  _ you _ might quite possibly be  _ far _ preferable to Hunter.”

She chuckles at his joke and a weak but grateful smile flashes across her face. “Jemma Simmons,” she replies. “Nice to meet you, Leopold.”

He grimaces briefly. “Fitz,” he remarks. “Just Fitz. I’m not a big fan of my first name to be honest.”

“Oh,” Jemma says, surprised. “Alright then. Fitz. Well, you can still call me Jemma. Or Simmons, I suppose. Whichever you prefer.”

“I like Jemma,” he replies. “Nice to meet you.”

Something about his friendly tone and warm, firm handshake puts Jemma at ease. She takes a slow, deep breath before letting go of his hand.

“So,” she begins, “when you say ‘companion,’ are you referring to the  _ Firefly _ kind or the  _ Doctor Who _ kind?”

He lets out a laugh. “Well,” he replies, “while I consider  _ Firefly _ an  _ excellent _ show that would have deserved many,  _ many _ more seasons… it does not  _ quite _ compare with  _ Doctor Who _ in my humble opinion.” He pauses briefly. “Although, admittedly, I wasn’t thinking of either of those two when I said that… it just kinda came out that way.”

“Fair enough,” Jemma says. She feels a sudden change in mood and his open answer conjures a smile onto her face. “An excellent reply, might I add.”

“So you’re a Whovian as well?” Fitz asks, pointing at her curiously, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“I am indeed,” Jemma replies, pointing at her lift companion. “Every single episode. From start to finish. In the correct order.”

“Impressive,” Fitz notes, pushing his lower lip slightly forward and nodding enthusiastically.

“I  _ am _ quite proud of that,” Jemma admits.

“As you  _ should _ be,” Fitz says. “I’ve seen every episode, but I didn’t start out in the correct order,” he explains, looking straight ahead as he recalls his anecdote. “I watched the 1996 movie. Still don’t know how I managed to convince my mum to let me see it. I mean, I wasn’t even  _ nine _ when it aired. I had nightmares for a  _ week _ ,” he says and chuckles briefly, before looking back at Jemma. “But at the same time, it was so… cool. I mean, you grow up hearing about  _ Doctor Who _ and to actually  _ see _ it.” He takes a deep breath. “So, after that, I took a break of a few years and then I started to watch every episode I could get hold of, reruns and all that, and when I started studying—well I was quite a bit younger than everyone else, so nobody really wanted to talk with me or hang out with me so I had plenty of time to myself and I started to systematically collect all episodes and watched them in order and caught up on the ones I had missed and… well… That’s my  _ Doctor Who _ story,” he concludes, shrugging his shoulders.

Jemma lets out a quiet laugh. “It’s a lovely anecdote,” she remarks. “And I applaud your diligence.”

“Thank you very much,” Fitz replies, grinning widely. “A compliment from a fellow Whovian is always greatly appreciated.”

“So,” Jemma says, giving him a questioning look. “Who’s your favorite Doctor?” Before he can answer, she points at him enthusiastically. “Let me guess!”

To her surprise, Fitz rolls his eyes at her. “Right,” he says grumpily. “I’m Scottish. So of course Tennant or Capaldi should be my favorite? Right? That’s what you’re about to say. That’s what  _ everyone _ says! But,” he continues gesturing wildly. “Tennant’s not even using his Scottish accent. That  _ alone _ should give me cause not to choose him. I mean, I know that wasn’t his choice, but still… and… and then Capaldi gets to use his Glaswegian accent? I mean, seriously? What the hell? It’s just… it’s infuriating, really. And  _ why _ should my Scottish upbringing dictate my choice of favorite Doctor? Huh? Can you explain that to me?”

Jemma looks at him wide-eyed, unable to suppress a grin. When he finally takes a breath, forcing him to interrupt his rant, she takes the opportunity to interject. “You are  _ absolutely _ right. Where you come from should  _ certainly _ not dictate who your favorite Doctor should be.” She shrugs her shoulders. “To be quite frank, I was going to suggest the Eleventh Doctor.”

“Really?” Fitz remarks surprised. “Smith?  _ Why? _ ”

“I can’t even say why,” Jemma replies honestly. “I just thought you’d be into him.”

Fitz wrinkles his forehead. “Into him? You met me barely ten minutes ago. How would you know what I’d be into?”

“Fair enough,” Jemma counters. “I apologize. So who  _ is _ your favorite Doctor then?” she asks as a peace offering.

Fitz squints his eyes, looking at her questioningly as if he’s analyzing her trustworthiness. Finally he sighs and leans closer. “The Tenth Doctor’s favorite Doctor,” he says slowly and pointedly.

Jemma’s eyes widen excitedly and the mischievous look in his eyes makes her smile. “The Fifth Doctor? Really? Very interesting.”

“Well,” Fitz begins. “I don’t know. I felt like the Fifth Doctor’s era was… it was more sciency, back to basics. I mean it still had humor and all that but it just… it was more up my alley. I know the celery thing seemed silly to some people and his whole Edwardian cricket thing, but there was just something about him. I always felt like he... he was more sensitive or vulnerable or something. And he treated his companions as teammates, you know? Like he wasn’t afraid to accept someone else’s leadership. I think that’s not a bad quality. But at the same time he was also extremely courageous. And he sacrificed himself to save Peri’s life!” He shrugs his shoulders. “He’s my Doctor.”

The passion with which he speaks causes Jemma to smile again.

“I think the Fifth Doctor is an  _ excellent _ choice,” she admits. “And!” she adds, pointing at him excitedly. “He’s the Tenth Doctor’s father-in-law.”

“What?” Fitz asks, confused.

“You don’t know that?” Jemma replies in surprise. “Tennant met Peter Davison’s daughter on set for the episode ‘The Doctor’s Daughter,’ in which she played the Doctor’s daughter. They got married and—to top it all off—she later gave birth to a daughter. It’s a wonderful piece of  _ Doctor Who _ trivia! I can’t believe you never heard that!”

“Well, it’s settled then,” Fitz says. “You are the Top-Whovian in this lift, if not in the entire world.”

She chuckles. “Well, I  _ highly _ doubt the second part of that statement.”

He laughs briefly, before putting on a fake serious look. “So. Your turn! How did  _ you _ become a Whovian and who’s your favorite Doctor. And I  _ won’t _ guess. You’ll just tell me, because I’m not going to drop a clanger like you earlier!”

Jemma laughs out loud. “Alright,” she begins. “My father is a **_huge_** _Doctor Who_ fan and as the 1996 movie drew closer he got so excited, it was truly infectious. But, unlike your mum, there was _nothing_ eight-year-old me could have said to make him allow me to watch it when it aired. And I was _so_ disappointed.” She takes a brief break to wet her lips. “But,” she continues, “on my twelfth birthday, he puts this _gigantic_ box in front of me and says ‘Now you’re ready.’” She chuckles at the memory. “And I have an inkling what it could be, but I’m too excited to believe it, and my hands are shaking as I open the box and it’s _filled_ with video tapes. I mean, he had recorded every single episode, either as they aired or in reruns and he bought whichever serials had been released on VHS and they were _all_ in that box, _meticulously_ labeled. And from that day on, we watched _one_ serial _every_ single day that we could until we finally hit Number 156, the 1996 movie.” Jemma takes a deep breath, looking at her lap. “And when I was in the States working on my second PhD when the revival started, we would watch the new episode, wait until the other had seen it, and then we’d Skype about it. We still do that,” she adds quietly.

Jemma slowly looks up at Fitz when he doesn’t reply. His blue eyes sparkle at her and a smile is playing on his lips. “That’s a wonderful story,” he says and Jemma wonders if she sees a shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“Thanks,” she replies quietly.

“So, who’s your favorite Doctor then?” Fitz inquires next.

Jemma straightens her back and looks mischievously at him out of the corners of her eyes. “Tom Baker,” she says importantly. “The Fourth Doctor. Longest-lived incarnation!” She pauses and becomes more serious. “He always seemed the most interesting to me. He has so many facets. He can be nerdy and whimsical and somber and really quite dark at times. And he has such high moral standards. I admire that. I mean, just think of his speech— _ iconic _ speech—when he’s supposed to destroy the Daleks? Incredible! Even as a child it gave me chills.” The corners of her mouth quirk up a little. “And of course he owned the first K9.” She sighs. “God, how I wanted a K9 when I was a kid.”

Fitz lets out a quiet laugh and points at her. “I tried to build one myself,” he remarks.

“Really?”

“Yep. Almost destroyed my mum’s basement in the process,” Fitz adds.

Jemma chuckles and takes a deep breath. “And, well, something about the Fourth Doctor always reminded me a little bit of my Dad,” she says, more to herself than to him.

“Who’s your Dad’s favorite Doctor?” Fitz asks curiously.

Jemma laughs. “First Doctor all the way,” she explains. “A  _ true _ Whovian purist. Although,” she adds, gesturing at Fitz, “he also seems to  _ quite _ enjoy Capaldi. Maybe because he’s excited to see that they cast a more  _ experienced _ actor for the role.”

“You mean  _ older _ ,” Fitz jokes.

Jemma snickers. “Well, I wouldn’t say that to my Dad’s face, but…  _ yes _ .”

They both laugh, but when it subsides the uncomfortable silence returns to the small elevator car. Jemma swallows, looking back at her legs.

“So,” Fitz’s voice draws her attention back to him. “Now that we’ve successfully explored our respective personal  _ Doctor Who _ stories, I have another  _ very _ important question for you.”

“Oh,” Jemma exclaims, surprised and a tad nervous.

Fitz leans a bit closer. “Are you a vegetarian?” he asks in all seriousness.

Jemma laughs. “No.”

“Excellent,” Fitz replies in relief. “Because Hunter ordered every meat on the planet for that pizza.” He gestures at the box lying on the floor. “And I suggest we don’t let it go to waste. Although,” he adds, “quite frankly I don’t understand why Americans—and Hunter is Americanized enough—insist on throwing fifty  _ thousand _ toppings onto a pizza.”

“Oh, I know,” Jemma chimes in, agreeing enthusiastically. “I mean, what’s wrong with a perfectly simple yet delicious—”

“Pizza Margherita,” both say in unison, before smiling at each other.

“Exactly!” Fitz says, pointing at Jemma. “I mean, I know I just moved here, but even when I’ve visited in the past, it’s  _ always _ baffled me! And the crust? I mean, what is this fluffy thick thing even supposed to be?”

Jemma laughs out loud. “I couldn’t agree with you more!”

“Let me tell you,” Fitz continues. “Finding an authentic Italian pizza place is  _ high _ on my list of things to achieve while I live here.”

“Oooh,” Jemma exclaims excitedly. “I  _ might _ be able to help you with that! There is this lovely little Italian place, not too far away from here actually, and, well I’m not Italian, so a  _ true _ Italian may still consider it insufficient, but I think their pizza is really quite delicious and authentic!”

“I’m gonna need the name of that place!” Fitz replies enthusiastically.

“Gladly,” Jemma remarks, when she feels and—more importantly—hears her stomach grumble.

Fitz chuckles briefly. “Well,” he says, reaching for the pizza box. “Maybe in our dire situation here, we should just bite the bullet and eat the meat-laden monstrosity Hunter insisted on.”

Jemma nods and happily accepts one of the large greasy pizza slices that Fitz hands her.

* * *

“Maybe you should just find a new job,” Fitz says, his mouth half-full as he finishes off another piece of pizza.

“Right, because that’s so easy!” Jemma replies, rolling her eyes at him and reaching for her third slice.

The box is more than half empty by now.

“Well, no. Not easy. But, you  _ clearly _ seem miserable there and Quinn is taking advantage of you and your talents, and what’s the harm in applying elsewhere?”

“What do  _ you _ know about my talents?” Jemma asks curiously.

“You work for Ian Quinn. Quinn Worldwide!” Fitz remarks. “You have talent. No doubt about it.”

Jemma smiles shyly at the compliment. “Well, nobody worth my while has put out any job ads lately,” she counters.

“So?” Fitz exclaims. “Send in an unsolicited application. I know for a  _ fact _ that Stark Industries is always looking for talented biochemists.”

“For a fact?” Jemma repeats, a hint of doubt in her voice.

“Yes,” Fitz confirms. “ _ My _ project is going to need a good biochemist,” he says pointing at himself, before beginning to gesture wildly. “Not that I’m saying you’d be the right biochemist for my project. I don’t know your specialty. But there are  _ tons _ of bioengineering projects going on there, and Stark  _ loves _ confident crap like unsolicited applications. That’s how I got  _ my _ job!”

Jemma sighs. “Well, I’m afraid I might be lacking a bit of confidence to just send in an unsolicited application to Stark Industries.”

“No you don’t,” Fitz counters. “Look at me! I was scared  _ shitless _ when I sent in my application, and I felt like I had to fake my way through the entire interviewing process, but I had  _ nothing _ to lose and  _ everything _ to gain. I had a perfectly fine and secure job in Glasgow but I made a promise to my mum before she died that I would try to reach for my dreams. ‘Aim for the moon,’ she said, ‘aim for the moon and even if you miss you’ll land among the stars.’ And I know that’s cheesy and ridiculous and cliché but she was right and I made her a promise to at least try. And I went for it and I tried and I got it. If  _ I _ can do that then why shouldn’t  _ you _ be able to? You have your job at Quinn Worldwide.  _ If _ you apply to Stark Industries and they don’t want you, you’ve lost nothing.  _ But! _ —if you want my honest opinion—Stark and Quinn are bitter rivals and if Stark gets the opportunity to snatch away one of Quinn’s top scientists—and let’s face it, you  _ must be _ one of his top scientists or that arrogant arse wouldn’t exploit and overwork you like that—well, then Stark will snatch you with a skip in his step, a twinkle in his eye, and a  _ very _ lovely large-numbered salary offer!”

His pep talk makes her laugh. “Alright,” she says quietly. “ _ Maybe _ I’ll send in an unsolicited application to Stark Industries.”

“There you go!” Fitz exclaims excitedly. “New Year’s Resolution!”

A muffled multi-voiced cheer draws their attention. Fitz looks up to the ceiling.

“Must be midnight,” Jemma assumes.

Fitz looks at his watch. “Yep, sure is.”

Jemma takes a deep breath and gets up, her legs tingling slightly from sitting too long. “Alright then,” she exclaims, looking at Fitz expectantly.

“Alright then?” Fitz repeats, confused.

“Well, do you stand by your previous statement that I would be a  _ far _ preferable choice of New Year’s Eve kiss compared to Hunter?”

He chuckles. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, shaking his head slightly.

“But it’s a rather sweet tradition and supposed to be good luck,” Jemma counters. “I will  _ need _ good luck when I apply to Stark Industries.”

Slowly Fitz gets up, smiling at her warmly. “Fine,” he says, wiping off his hands on his trousers. “But for the record: You don’t need good luck for Stark Industries, you have what it takes!”

He straightens up and pulls down his bomber jacket, before leaning closer to plant a gentle peck on Jemma’s lips.

“Happy New Year, Jemma,” he says when he breaks away, his blue eyes gazing down at her.

“Happy New Year, Leopold,” Jemma replies.

Her hands fly to her mouth when she notices his slight frown. “Oh no,” she exclaims. “Oh no no no. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Fitz tells her, an honest smile playing on his lips.

“No,” Jemma repeats. “I can’t  _ possibly _ start the new year by insulting you by using your first name which you  _ hate _ .”

“Well hate’s a bit of a strong word,” Fitz tries to chime in, but Jemma waves her hands in front of his face to stop him from talking.

“No no no, do-over,” she exclaims, and before he can say anything, she cups his face and presses her lips against his.

She intends for it to be a simple peck, like the first one, but somehow her lips linger, somehow they melt against his, soft and warm and tender, somehow it takes effort to pull away from him, somehow her nose gently rubs against his as they part, somehow she feels his surprised exhale against her lips and an excited shiver runs through her body, somehow her eyes stay closed a few seconds longer than expected, somehow she inhales his scent and feels his hands barely touching her waist, somehow his eyes stare at her more darkly and intensely than before while his mouth gapes slightly ajar.

“Happy New Year, Fitz,” she mutters barely above a whisper.

He clears his throat, and his tongue briefly darts out to wet his lips. “Happy New Year, Simmons,” he replies equally quietly, and the use of her last name makes her chuckle.

She takes a deep breath and steps a little back. “There you have it,” she says, unable to hide her smile. “A do-over.”

He nods slowly. “Yep. And most definitely  _ far _ nicer than anything Hunter could have offered,” he jokes.

She chuckles. “Thank you,” she says.

“What for?”

Jemma shrugs her shoulders. “Keeping me company.” She inhales slowly. “I know you didn’t really have a choice but you could have simply decided to sit in your own corner in silence after my little mental breakdown.”

He smiles at her. “No, I couldn’t have.”

Jemma sighs. “Well, this was certainly not  _ where _ I wanted to spend my New Year’s Eve  _ nor _ with whom I wanted to spend it, but I must admit, it turned out to be  _ quite _ a special and lovely New Year’s Eve… and certainly memorable.”

“Yep, that’s the kinda stuff you’ll tell your grandkids about one day,” Fitz adds, pointing at her.

“Precisely,” Jemma agrees, a smile on her lips.

“So, what now?” Fitz breaks the momentary silence.

Jemma shrugs her shoulders. “There’s a bit more pizza left,” she suggests. “And I believe there are still some science fiction series we have not yet covered.”

Fitz lets out a brief laugh. “Alright,” he says, rubbing his hands together and walking back to where he had been sitting earlier.

* * *

“Well, and that’s the story of how I—” Fitz stops talking when Jemma’s attempt to stifle a yawn fails miserably.

He chuckles briefly. “I see! My slightly weird, yet endearing fascination with the various primates on this planet. That’s where you draw the line?” he teases her.

“No, no,” Jemma tries to interject. “It was really quite—” Another yawn attack forces her to interrupt her reply. “Fascinating,” she finally manages to finish and looks at him apologetically.

His warm smile shines back at her. “Why don’t you sleep?” he suggests quietly.

“No,” Jemma exclaims and looks at her watch. “It’s  _ barely _ 1:30. We’re in our late twenties. What kind of people in their  _ twenties _ go to sleep at 1:30 on New Year’s Eve?” she asks, slightly frustrated, pressing her lips together to stop herself from yawning again.

“Umm,” Fitz mutters, gesturing at Jemma with his thumb. “People who were forced by their arrogant bosses to work until 9:30 pm on New Year’s Eve?… In heels,” he adds pointing at her shoes. Then he points at himself. “People who were forced to listen to their friend bitch and moan about a breakup for hours on end and  _ then _ were sent on a suicide mission to pick up a disgustingly greasy pizza on New Year’s Eve?” He gestures back and forth between the two of them. “People who get stuck in a lift on New Year’s Eve. You know: people like us?”

His reply makes her laugh. “Fine,” she says. “Maybe trying to get some sleep isn’t the worst idea.”

Fitz nods in agreement. “Here,” he says and begins to take off his jacket.

“What are you doing?” Jemma asks, surprised. “You’re going to get cold!”

“No I won’t,” Fitz disagrees. “It’s not cold in here.” He hands her the jacket. “Use it as a pillow. It’ll be more comfortable.”

“What about you?” Jemma says, full of concern.

“I can sleep anywhere,” Fitz replies. “Trust me.”

Jemma smiles at him and quietly folds up his jacket. She lays down on the elevator floor, her head close to Fitz. The jacket feels warm against her cheek and the smell of the old worn leather reminds her of her parents’ sofa. She closes her eyes and inhales the familiar scent. “Good night, Fitz,” she mutters quietly.

A smile flashes across her face, when she briefly feels his hand on her shoulder. “Good night, Jemma.”


	2. About two-and-a-half years later

“Let’s hear it for the best man,” Daisy’s boyfriend Trip and self-proclaimed emcee of the wedding announces. 

“God help us,” Daisy mutters under her breath. Jemma elbows her gently but can’t suppress a giggle, while Hunter stands up, raising his champagne flute enthusiastically.

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends of the bride and groom, dearly beloved,” he exclaims theatrically.

“Oh, Hunter,” Bobbi grumbles next to him.

“Hush, my love,” Hunter says to his wife. “I’m just getting started.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Bobbi counters.

But Hunter ignores her and turns back to face the audience. “My dearly beloved, let me take you back to New Year’s Eve 2016.” He pauses dramatically. “Now many of us considered 2016 to be a year of… well, it wasn’t the best.”

A few quiet chuckles can be heard throughout the room.

“And for  _ me _ ,” Hunter continues, raising his voice to emphasize the last word in particular. “Well, for  _ me _ , 2016 ended in a particularly dark and bleak abyss, as  _ my _ Bobbi—” He places his hand on Bobbi’s shoulder, who inhales sharply and glares at him with a sense of annoyance. “My  _ beloved _ Bobbi,  _ love _ of my life,  _ apple _ of my eye, broke up with me only  _ weeks _ before this fateful night of December 31, 2016. She  _ broke _ my heart,” he continues his theatrical speech. “Broke it, and tore it out of my bleeding chest, and scattered its pieces on the ground for everyone to trample on.”

“Bit much don’t you think, Hunter?” Bobbi mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes at her husband. But the left corner of her mouth quirks up ever-so-slightly.

“But  _ one _ man stood by my side during this darkest of times,” Hunter keeps going, paying no heed to his wife’s comment. He places his hand on the groom’s shoulder, looking lovingly down at him. “ _ My _ Fitz.  _ My _ Fitzy. My  _ rock _ . My  _ love _ !”

“Really, Hunter?” Fitz asks, wrinkling his forehead as he grimaces at Hunter. Next to Jemma, Daisy does her best not to snort her drink out of her nose.

Hunter turns his face to the audience. “Fitz stayed by me. Holding my hand. Sharing my tears.”

“Yeah, I  _ definitely _ did not hold your hand and I  _ definitely _ did not share your tears,” Fitz interjects.

“My story, mate,” Hunter says loud enough for everyone to hear, earning him a few more laughs.

“Fine, keep going then,” Fitz acknowledges, shaking his head but grinning nonetheless.

“And when I thought  _ all _ hope was lost,” Hunter booms into the room, before taking a dramatic pause. “I had an  _ epiphany _ ,” he adds raising his index finger in the air. “I  _ knew _ what would bring this  _ wretched _ year to a happy end.” He inhales slowly. “A pizza!” he announces and the audience laughs. “A magnificent pizza pie,” Hunter continues. “Topped with a cow, three pigs, and half-a-dozen chickens. Topped with every cheese known to man. The queen of all pizza pies.”

Hunter waits until the laughter ebbs down.

“And my man Fitz, here,” he finally continues, placing his hand once again on Fitz’s shoulder, before moving it to his own chest. “Out of the  _ goodness _ of his heart! This  _ hero _ offered to venture the busy New Year’s Eve streets of the city to bring this  _ glorious _ gift of a pizza back to me.” Hunter triumphantly raises his fist in the air.

“Was forced to, Hunter,” Fitz chimes in. “The words you’re looking for are ‘was forced to.’”

“Anyway!” Hunter says pointedly, staring down at Fitz to try and stop him from talking. Fitz chuckles briefly, before looking straight ahead, allowing Hunter to continue his speech. “So Fitz goes off into the busy night to bring this  _ glorious _ gift of a pizza back to me,” he repeats. “While I—well—get more and more shitfaced until I pass out on the sofa.”

“ _ Hunter! _ ” Bobbi exclaims next to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hunter apologizes. “I mean, while I got  _ mildly _ intoxicated until I fell into a  _ sweet _ , peaceful slumber. Better, my love?” he adds, grinning mischievously, while the audience laughs. Bobbi merely shakes her head, unable to suppress a smile herself.

“But just  _ imagine _ ,” Hunter continues, his voice once again booming loudly. “When I awoke, I realized—in  _ shock _ —that there was  _ no _ Fitz,  _ no _ pizza, just my empty dark and lonely soul.”

“Dude, can we  _ please _ speed this up?” Daisy asks annoyed.

“Seriously, people,  _ my _ speech. Don’t rush me!” Hunter protests briefly, gesturing at himself, before continuing unfazed. “It was only poor little me… When  _ suddenly _ I heard a noise from the hallway and I rush out and down the stairs until I find a small group of people, including my  _ beloved _ Bobbi,  _ sunshine _ of my life,  _ bearer _ of my unborn child—”

“Hunter!” Bobbi groans once more.

“—and her friend Daisy—” Hunter continues.

“Thanks for the honorable mention,” Daisy chimes in, raising her glass.

“—and they stand in front of the lift where a tree of a man, shoulders wide as a car, arms the size of my thighs, pries open the doors with nothing but his bare hands.”

“Dude, he had a crowbar and there were  _ two _ other firefighters with him,” Daisy interjects.

“You  _ really _ don’t know how to tell a good story,” Hunter mutters, giving her a death-stare.

“Hunter, seriously, people are waiting for dinner,” Bobbi pleads with him.

“Fine,” Hunter replies grumpily, and continues less theatrically and at a much faster pace. “So the firefighters pry open the doors to the lift, and the big guy peeks inside and in a voice so deep and smooth that Barry White would have been jealous, he announces ‘There’s two people inside… and an empty pizza box.” He pauses briefly. “Now, let’s blame it on the intense throbbing in my head, but the first thing that escapes my lips is, ‘You ate my pizza, Fitz?’”

A few scattered laughs interrupt his speech.

“And I catch a glimpse of Fitz looking up at me, giving me the thumbs up and he says ‘Yeah, I’m fine, Hunter, thanks for asking. Your concern is greatly appreciated.’”

Once again, Hunter has to stop his speech until the laughter dies down.

“And so, the firefighters finally help Fitz and Jemma out of the lift, and Bobbi and Daisy immediately swarm around Jemma as if they’re two worried mother ducks, and I walk over to Fitz and am greeted by his finger stabbing me in the chest as he exclaims, ‘You ate my pizza, Fitz?  _ Seriously? _ Just to be clear, I’m  _ never _ picking up food for you  _ ever _ again!’”

“That was actually quite a good Fitz impersonation,” Jemma chimes in.

“And before I can say anything in return to apologize, Fitz pushes me aside—and were it not for the tree of a man blocking my path, I’d probably have fallen straight into the lift—and… well, he pushes me aside and scuttles over to the girls and calls out Jemma’s name, and she turns around, and—by golly—if she’s not smiling like the Cheshire Cat on acid—”

“ _ Hunter! _ ” Bobbi once again interrupts her husband.

“I mean, smiling with that big warm smile of hers that we all love and adore,” Hunter saves himself, and looks at his wife waiting for approval. When Bobbi silently nods, Hunter continues.

“So she smiles at him, and he’s standing there like the shy love-sick fool he is, and in his lovely Scottish accent he nervously proclaims, ‘That little Italian place you mentioned… maybe you could take me there… I mean… maybe I could take  _ you _ there… I mean… maybe you could show me where it is and we could go there together… for dinner… and I’ll pay.’”

A few  _ Awwwwws _ resonate throughout the room, and Hunter patiently waits his turn.

“And I  _ swear _ the only thing missing is a little old lady yelling from the sidelines ‘Just say yes, honey!’”

“You know that this wasn’t a movie? Right, Hunter?” Fitz mumbles.

“Well, it  _ should _ be,” Hunter counters, smiling at his friend. “So!” he exclaims next, raising his champagne flute a little higher. “To wrap this wonderful anecdote up… Don’t you dare say ‘ _ Finally!’ _ or I’ll add some additional scenes, Daisy… They go on their date two days later and practically become  _ inseparable _ ; so  _ madly _ in love that it’s at times nauseating for those mere mortal humans around them.”

Hunter pauses, but it is clear that there is still more to come.

“Now,” he finally continues. “For as long as Fitz and I shared an apartment after he started dating Jemma, whenever he  _ tried _ to refuse to pick up food I had ordered, I would place my hand on his shoulder, and lean a bit closer—” He mimics the motion as he tells his story, bringing his face close to Fitz’s for a moment before straightening back up. “And I would  _ remind _ him that were it not for  _ me _ and my drunken desire to eat the world’s largest pizza topped with thirty different kinds of meat on New Year’s Eve… Well, he would never have met the love of his life.”

Fitz and Jemma exchange knowing looks, and Fitz slowly reaches for his bride’s hand, squeezing it gently. The room is a mix of laughter and  _ Awwwws _ and  _ Ahhhs _ , but Hunter raises his free hand until people quiet down again.

“And every time,” he continues, raising his index finger in the air. “ _ Every _ .  _ Single _ .  _ Time _ I reminded him of that, Fitz would bring his face closer to mine, smile, put his hand on  _ my _ shoulder and then he would tell me—rightfully so—” Hunter takes one final dramatic pause. “To  _ sod off _ and pick up my own  _ bloody _ food.”

The room roars and cheers as the audience breaks out in laughter.

“To the bride and groom,” Hunter shouts into the reception hall, raising his champagne flute, and one by one, the entire room repeats his cheer.

Fitz and Jemma smile at each other, wiping away some of their tears of laughter and happiness, before letting the world around them disappear for just a moment, allowing their lips to meet, softly, tenderly, and just a few seconds longer than expected, much like the second kiss they ever shared.

**Author's Note:**

> Confession time: I've never seen Doctor Who, so all my knowledge here stems from bugging MashiarasDream, a few video clips (that definitely, _definitely_ make me finally want to watch the show really really soon!) and Wikipedia. 
> 
> That being said, I did put quite some time, effort, and thought into my picks of favorite Doctors for Fitzsimmons and Jemma's Dad. I realize my opinion in that regard may differ from those of some of my readers, but I actually think they're good choices, so read and let live :)


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